


Soft Light, Gentle Breeze

by aplethoraofthings



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplethoraofthings/pseuds/aplethoraofthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was unheard of for Wataru to be late, truly late, to tea time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Light, Gentle Breeze

It was unheard of for Wataru to be late, truly late, to tea time. Sure, sometimes he delayed himself for the sake of some new entrance or trick he wished to show off, but when one minute turned into five, Eichi felt that something was up. Of course, he could appropriate Yuzuru for the search or do the smart thing and call him, but where’s the adventure in that? Thus, after scanning the skies for that trademark hot-air balloon, he started for the auditorium. Perhaps he had gotten caught up with his own protege, though he didn’t think the theater club had practice today, not with their normally scheduled tea. Or maybe he was practicing alone, and he could sneak in and watch on of the shows. Upon heaving open one of the overly heavy doors, it reveals the silent, darkened theater, dust floating in the still air.

Eichi cautiously made his way over to where the door to the prop room stood ajar, soft light filtering out through the crack. He creaks it open a little more, then peers inside. What greets him is the smell of dust and age, making each breath a bit of a struggle for his weak lungs. Glancing around, all he can really see are, well, props. Tall armoires, coat racks shrouded with old jackets, a rather fancy looking chair that he should ask about inquiring for the student council are just the first trees in in this forest of abandoned oddities. The undergrowth or fallen garments and dusty stools and other paraphernalia makes navigating difficult, as there is not so much a path as the suggestion of one. At the end of it he can see a small clearing. A figure rests in a chair at a desk, the small lamp nearby providing a soft glow that lights the whole room.

“Hello?” Eichi weakly calls.

No response. Even more intriguing. Taking as deep a breath as he can without hurting himself, picks his way precariously through the labyrinth surrounding him. It’s not like Eichi is meaning to be quiet, simply that not stepping on anything requires him to tip-toe over what look like things that he probably shouldn’t step on if he wants to walk ever again. 

Surprisingly, it’s a rather short trek to the center of the room, even with having to breathe shallowly and watching every step he takes. Stepping over a long pillow and around some sort of pole, Eichi arrives in the clearing. The figure is facing away from him, perhaps having turned to block out the lamp light. Hopefully. Eichi feels his heart pound loud in his ears and hard in his chest as he reaches out to the back of the old leather chair. Slowly, it spins, creaks echoing in the quiet, silent room until eichi comes face to face with…

Wataru?

Wataru twitches a little at the being faced with brighter light, but doesn’t seem to anywhere near waking up. It’s something else, truly, to see the ever-active Wataru Hibiki still and quiet, basically dead to the world around him. Eichi brings up one hand to gently brush one cheek. It’s warm and soft and Eichi’s heart skips a beat when Wataru heaves a little sigh. He’s drooling a bit, lips and jaw slack in sleep, but that has it’s own charm, something so surprisingly, delightfully normal about this extraordinary man. His head is nestled in between the tall back of the chair and one of the little wings coming off of it, the waterfall of moonlight that only he is beautiful enough to claim as his hair all tumbling over one shoulder to pool in his lap. Eichi wishes, for not the first or last time in this god-forsaken life of his, that he could stop time. To stop time, even if only one second more, so that he could try to memorize every detail. From the way his chest rises and falls, to the shadows his eyelashes make on his cheeks to the tiny specks of dust floating in the air, all of it, all of it, Eichi wants to keep.

_Or you could just take a picture already._

The voice sound quite a bit like himself doing an impression of Keito, and he slips out his phone with a fond smile. Password entered, camera brought up, and Wataru is brought into focus on the screen. Carefully, he lines up the shot, then taps the button. Eichi tries his hardest to force his ever shaking hands into stillness at the prompt to, to make sure that this shot is just as perfect as Wataru. 

It seems the gods were listening earlier, if only halfway, because time does not stop, but slow, as a bright flash of light fills the room. Startled, Eichi nearly drops his phone onto the concrete below. Wataru brings up a hand to rub sleep from his eyes, sounding confused and a little miffed. Eichi, in his panic, takes a step back, only to step straight onto the pole he’d gone around earlier. It rolls forward, he falls back, and before him his life flashes. Years of pain, boredom, apathy dyed in grayscale, Keito saving him from the brink of death, then Wataru, showing him what he had been missing but could have. These years of his cursed life have been difficult at best, but if meeting Wataru wasn’t worth it then nothing ever would be. 

In vain, in pain, Eichi tries to reach out a hand to Wataru as his breath hitches, chest tight. Through closing eyelids he sees Wataru lurch forward, and in what is probably an oxygen deprived illusion, their fingertips brush, and warmth blooms in this cold corpse Eichi walks in. 

And then the world is black.

…

Eichi wakes in the infirmary. He knows this before he is fully roused from his slumber, before his individual senses come back online, before he can even piece together a thought. It’s this aura, this feeling of being there that is an old ache in weary young bones. Slowly, Eichi gains function and pieces together his environment. Dull aches on his left shoulder and right elbow: Wataru must not have caught him, then. The sudden vibration of his phone: on and not broken, though it’s not like he doesn't have replacements. The inconsistent ups and down’s of Wataru’s voice, underlaid with the low rasp of Sagami-sensei’s: both muffled, so they must be outside the door. The smell of cheap beer and antiseptic, the familiar white of the infirmary dividers and sheets, the warm late spring breeze ruffling the curtains and breathing life into this checkpoint of death. The door swings back open, and then Wataru waltzes into what may as well be Eichi designated section of the infirmary as Eichi tries to think of a way to get up without causing more pain than necessary. 

“Ah, His Majesty has awoken! How delightful! We must celebrate with roses, yes roses, for what else could compare to the elegance of the Emperor?” 

“No roses, please...” Sagami-sensei pleas, but it is vain as rich red roses burst forth from everywhere on Wataru’s person to cover the floor, the bed, Eichi, and Sagami-sensei, but mysteriously Wataru himself only holds one. Eichi vaguely registers a rose landing squarely on his head, but is mostly distracted by how delighted Wataru looks to care about the thorns.

“...Hibiki-kun.” Sagami-sensei has his head in his hands, fingers massaging his temples lightly.

“Ah! Amazing! How far we have come, to understand each other with but a simple call of my name!” Wataru spins, and suddenly the roses jump and become but mere petals, stems ripped from them like a sudden death, leaving behind mere scraps of what it had been, and yet those too have their own beauty…? 

Or perhaps the roses have been replaced entirely and, much like the ruthless industry they are pawns and king to, swapped out for pieces that are more suited to the task at hand. Were they to be discarded, their one moment to shine ruined by something so boring as the “rules” or “common sense”? Were they simply sent back to whence they came, to wait for a time that might not come before they have withered too far away?

A petal slips off of Eichi’s head, and as it slowly slides through his hair Eichi can’t help but go a bit cross-eyed, just to watch it. Wataru’s saying something, the pleasant lit of his voice a nice backdrop to this peaceful, hazy moment Eichi has once more found himself in. Soft light, rose petals, Wataru’s voice. It’d all be rather romantic, if he wasn’t in the infirmary. The petal lands on his nose, and for a second Eichi stares-

-and then he is startled into looking Wataru’s lavender eyes, twinkling as always. The petal is snapped up off his nose and twirled between his long, deft fingers. In the blink of an eye the petal is transformed into a tarot card, ‘The Emperor’, and slid between Eichi’s loosely folded hands. 

“Whilst it is all good and well that His Majesty is entertained by merely the first trick, would you not like to bear witness to the rest of the show?”

Eichi gives him a weak smile, brows slightly upturned.

“It seems like a was still a little out of it, sorry. Help me up?” Eichi says, reaching out to him. Wataru’s hands are warm and rough in comparison to Eichi’s, whose are cold and trembling, always trembling. He gets hauled up quickly, perhaps a bit too fast, but that's Wataru for you. Besides, since they’re holding hands, he can check Wataru’s nails. It was quite uncharacteristic for Wataru to be so vulnerable like that, so maybe he wasn't feeling well. It’d have to be truly serious for him to slip up like that though, so maybe...but it doesn’t matter since they’ve all been painted with some sort of glittery pastel concoction that is probably changing colors as he blinks. Interesting. 

“Tch, whatever. Just clean them up when you leave, yes?” Sagami-sensei brings up a hand to rub at his temples, which effectively blocks Wataru from view. Out of sight, out of mind, is that the phrase?

“You fainted from what was probably shock and some sort of breathing difficulty, but you seem fine now, so go whenever you feel like it. I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee, don’t do anything illicit while I’m gone.” With that Sagami-sensei stood up with a pop in his knees that made Eichi wince and walked out. Once he was gone, Wataru turned back to him, slipping his hand from Eichi’s grip. Eichi watched it go with a small frown.

“Well then, now that he’s gone, what would you like to do? First though, I must apologize for being late, or rather, missing our tea party entirely. And for you to catch me asleep no less, how embarrassing! I was too befuddled at being startled that I couldn’t even catch you. It was lucky that pillow was there or else we might be in the hospital right now. Ah, but such depressing talk after one has just awoken is really no good! Come now, late as it is, let us have our tea…”

Wataru bows but keeps his head raised, one hand extended to Erichi to take if he so chooses. And Eichi does take it...and then yanks, pulling Wataru forward. Wataru makes a face showing something like affronted surprise- which is frankly _adorable_ \- but manages to catch himself before he falls into the bed. Eichi scoots over and pats the space next to him, polite smile never falling. An amused sigh, the shuffling of sheets and slippers, and Wataru is sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. 

“May i ask what we’re doing, Eichi?”

Eichi gives a quiet laugh. 

“Having tea here, of course.There’s you, me, roses, and presumably you have the tea. What more do we need?”

“...Nothing I suppose, but I thought you disliked the infirmary? And besides, even with the roses it simply doesn't have the right mood-”

Eichi covers his mouth, then moves to turn Wataru’s head fully towards him. 

“The mood is always right when you’re here, Wataru.”

...

Eichi leans his head against the window of the limo, watching streets and people roll by without a second thought. His phone buzzes softly, and a simple click of the button reveals the lockscreen. Wataru sits fast asleep, colors a bit washed out but features still perfect. Eichi strokes a thumb over Wataru’s hair before moving to swipe in his password. Hopefully, he’ll be lucky enough to get a better picture, another time. Hopefully, he’ll be lucky enough that he doesn’t have to.


End file.
